


Careful Steps

by chaya



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Courtship, Cultural Differences, Government Paperwork, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya
Summary: Shadowhand Essik pursues his interests in the most culturally respectful way possible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 5/23/19: So Matt just dropped the canon spelling of ~~Essik~~ Essek's name, and this entire story is already posted. I'm adding secondary name and pairing tags and leaving the rest of this alone for now.

Shadowhand Essik Theylas does not require explicit signed permission to associate with the Empire defectors. Many others do, and will, but the Empress has made it clear to him that this group clearly requires both observation and guidance, and Essik feels he is more than prepared to provide both.

Essik does, however, require permissions for interactions that fall outside those guidelines.

“I have the form,” Scribe Indril says, her tone carefully neutral. In her eleven years of working in this position, Essik has known her to be professional to a point. Today is no different. “I will notify you in advance of providing it, that I will have to mark it to be checked by an extra set of Examiners, because of the additional potential risks.”

Essik raises one careful eyebrow. “Even with the potential benefits?”

Scribe Indril inclines her head respectfully. “Even so. And if that is your reason for pursuing … this, and there are no other personal inclinations, I would be sure to say so explicitly, as it lowers the risk of potential security failure.”

“Thank you,” Essik says, and knows he would not be able to write any such thing in good faith.

**

Caleb Widogast accepts his invitation to study at his home over dinner and wine. Essik travels often and only keeps a  _small_ house in Rosohna, with only two servants, but he does not imagine that this particular conquest will look down his nose at modest accommodations.

Indeed, the human is quite the opposite. He compliments the garden out front, the modest art pieces that hang in the dining room, and asks several questions about the food. Essik finds this man’s nature to be unusual, but he is excellent company regardless. When Widogast uses a spoon to drink one of the sauces out of its small bowl as if it were a soup, Essik’s younger servant straightens, admirably withholds any amused expression, and departs to the kitchens.

Afterward, they study in the library over wine. Caleb’s new Xhorhassian attire is particularly attractive in the light of the small hearth. Essik is disappointed to see that Caleb barely touches his glass at all, despite its vintage. Caleb is animated over the books, from one to the other, asking questions with the stuttering inertia of a man who is trying to learn everything he can without overwhelming or irritating his tutor. Essik is patient, answering what he can when he can, and calls the night a mixed success.

Feeling bold, he asks Caleb as they rise if he would like to plan another such meeting. Caleb does not so much as hesitate at how soon the other man has requested his company again, so perhaps Essik is not yet tuned in to how to read this human’s body language? It is hard to tell. On the evening of Conthsen, in the comfort of a reserved room at one of Rosohna’s finer dining locations, Essik will endeavor to learn more.


	2. Chapter 2

“Scribe Indril.”

She looks up from a sheaf of papers, straightening as soon as she recognizes him. “Shadowhand. I trust you’re having a good morning.”

“I am, and wish you the same.” Essik pulls his report from his cloak, laying it respectfully on the side of her desk. “I have no doubt that the Empress is using your capabilities to their fullest, and that your schedule is quite full, but I still find myself requesting your specific review upon these documents.”

The reports of his co-mingling with defectors, he does not say. She does not say it either. Rather, she picks the report up by the corner, scanning the top for a few key words before nodding and filing it away in one of her many complex wooden slat organizers. “I will be happy to intake all of your reports for the foreseeable future, both of your interactions with the group and otherwise.”

Otherwise. “Thank you.” Essik bows  _very_  slightly at the waist, as much as one of his stature could to a Scribe, and takes a breath. “I knew you would understand the issue of discretion applicable here.”

Scribe Indril takes a careful moment to compose her words, giving Essik an uncharacteristically knowing look. “As long as the information exchanges are made explicitly clear on the documentation, I see no issues moving forward.”

Knowing the right people is  _everything_. “I am in your debt.”

**

“The Kryn silhouette suits you,” Essik says as they enter the restaurant, indicating Caleb’s coat and noting a curious red tinge to the human’s ears. Caleb’s exotic pink-white skin is both extremely telling and extremely perplexing - such a flush may be indicative of pleasure, or perturbation at an inappropriate comment. Caleb’s expression offers no help at this moment.

“They are nothing special,” Caleb deflects, lifting his chin - this seems to be a common gesture for indication, however informal - toward Essik’s cloak. “I, we, you know. Dressing in our Emipre-styled clothes from back home did not seem… prudent.”

“A wise observation.” Essik sheds his outerwear and hands it off to one of the staff. “If you are interested in speaking with a tailor, I have one not far from the Marble Tomes Conservatory that has been in high regard for several generations now.”

Caleb smiles through what is definitely an embarrassed grimace. “I’ll get something nicer before the next time we go out somewhere,” he promises, and Essik internally berates himself for making this man feel self-conscious.

**

The first two courses go splendidly. The service is exquisite, although Essik notes that this is the first time in the last fourteen years that the owner has not come personally to visit his table.

In the delicately arranged candle light, the human’s exotic hair color is displayed at its best, capturing the rich golds and coppers and reflecting them with every movement of his head. Even the light stubble on his jawline catches the light. His eyes are, fascinatingly, the color of aquamarine stones.

“I don’t mean to press,” Caleb says. He sounds more stilted than he has the rest of the night. (Essik has been quite pleased with how much the human had seemed to relax up until now.) “And, I certainly don’t want to sound unappreciative of this good food or drink-”

“Please,” Essik says, lifting an open hand in invitation. If Caleb actually asks for something specific, that means that Essik will have an opportunity to provide him with it, and please him in some way.

“Only, my spellbook is in my coat in the cloak room down there, and I don’t know if you brought yours, or when we were meant to study tonight.”

Caleb is yet again focused on work. Essik suppresses a flash of disappointment. “Rather than copying new work, I thought it prudent that we practice tonight instead.” He collects some marinated pheasant on his fork, dipping it lightly in one of the sauce bowls. (Caleb has not repeated his error from the first night.) “I have had the front room cleared out so that we may have enough space to work.”

“The front room. Of your house.” Caleb sounds strange. Essik is unable to detect whether it is anticipation or just hesitance.

“I apologize that I do not have a larger space for us. A human using dunamancy, if seen by someone uninformed, could cause quite a panic.”

Caleb pauses, but then he inclines his head. “I’m very grateful that you’ve opened your home to me.”

“Please think nothing of it.” Essik lifts his chin just an inch, brushing a long strand of white hair away from his cheek. “You are most welcome in my home.”

**

Nothing comes of the evening practice.

**

Shadowhand Essik’s reports faithfully recount all relevant context. Caleb does not discuss much of his personal history with the Empire, nor anything of strategic value - Essik does not ask - but the human does recount several  _non_ -strategic details, such as the Zemni Fields’s changes throughout the seasons, common past-times, and specific festival foods. Essik finds the descriptions of the various dishes interesting, and finds it acceptable to give only very brief summaries of these discussions in his official documents.

Caleb’s questions must always be reported, but these are often summarized and grouped together very easily. Caleb is obviously very careful not to ask anything that would make him sound overly interested in military activities, ports, teleportation capabilities, etc. When he asks about Xhorhas, the questions are broad and simple, those of a tourist. Essik answers them happily. When Caleb asks about Essik’s personal experiences in the land, Essik is even happier to answer, and finds himself fascinated every time he is able to make those strange blue eyes light up in interest.

**

Other intel that is not necessary for the forms: which foods Caleb Widogast prefers (rice, white fish, oxtail, plum sauces, any roasted vegetables so far), which wines (red, as does Essik), or that Essik has reached out to the Marble Tomes for light sociology knowledge on Empire natives. He is very sure that the mixed messages he is receiving are a fault of his own, and that more effort is required.

**

It is several days later, after the fourth report, that Scribe Indril stands from her desk when Shadowhand Essik enters her office.

“Shadowhand,” she says respectfully. “I trust that this afternoon finds you well.”

“And you.” Essik’s hand hovers over the opening in his cloak, unsure if she wishes to receive anything from him. Indeed, she rounds the desk, opening the door Essik just shut and turning the small metal dial on the front to indicate that a private meeting is taking place. Essik’s heart goes perfectly still in his rib cage, not beating as Scribe Indril shuts the door, returns to her seat, and indicates for him to take a chair.

“In order to not be disturbed,” She explains, leaning to the side and unlocking a drawer in her desk. She pulls out what Essik recognizes as his most recently submitted report, and makes sure not to display any particular reaction. “I have no suspicions of maliciously exempted content, Shadowhand Essik,”

He can breathe once more.

“But I must also run checks for clarity of word, and I admit that I have some questions. I apologize as these may be a display of my own ignorance.”

Essik will endure any amount of nitpicking in this moment. He is just grateful that something has not led to a formal inquiry. “Please inquire as much as you need. I am still in your debt for making sure these are handled personally.” There are several Scribes, it is known, who keep operational knowledge very close to the chest, but are happy to gossip about matters considered unimportant to the mission. This would surely qualify.

Scribe Indril nods and pulls out a dark blue quill, hovering over a few lines halfway down. “Shadowhand Essik, in paragraph fourteen you state that you have again… please pardon me…”

“Speak freely.”

Scribe Indril adjusts the long silver pin keeping her hair back. In this moment, she looks very young, Essik thinks, although he would not be so disrespectful to her station as to say so. “You state that you invite Mr. Widogast to taste the wine you are drinking from your glass.”

“Correct.”

“You have done this in the past.”

Essik thinks back. “Since our second time eating together, I have done this.”

Scribe Indril nods and moves her quill further down the lines. “Mr. Widogast accepts the drink, thanks you, and does…  _not_  offer you the same?”

Essik keeps his back straight and his face impassive. “It is my understanding that many of the social norms we assume to be universal do not, in fact, reach as far as the Empire.”

Scribe Indril shoots him a very disbelieving and compassionate expression. “You also ordered his meal for him, and he accepted this. I’m not sure I understand why this was noted.”

“Ordering a meal for a dining partner is an  _Empire_ gesture. I recently gleaned this tradition from some texts.”

Scribe Indril considers this. “I suppose there are many customs which seem normal to those who live with them,” she says finally.

“Indeed,” Essik agrees, and does his best to keep the weariness out of his tone.

“Finally.” Scribe Indril clears her throat and glances at him with what appears to be an apology in advance. Essik steels himself. “There have been several visits to your home.”

“Yes.”

“If there has been….” Indril spins her quill between her fingers, lips pressed together. “Any sort of physical contact, I am obligated to inform you that it must be noted in your reports, and that omission of such content could be viewed as something that would require investigation. I understand that there is a specific sensitive nature to such encounters which requires brevity, but-”

“If such an event occurs, it will not be omitted from my reports.”

Scribe Indril looks at him with open surprise.

Shadowhand Essik remains perfectly still.

“No such event has occurred at this time,” Scribe Indril concludes uncertainly.

“Correct.”

Scribe Indril looks at Essik Theylas, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, then down to the report, then, after the uncomfortable silence as she unlocks another drawer to access his previous reports and scan them, back to him.

“I do not understand humans,” she declares in a stilted formal tone. “Thank you for your compliance, Shadowhand. I wish you a peaceful day.”

“And you.”


	3. Chapter 3

One can often determine how much a person values a topic by how closely they hold it to their chest. Essik notices the moment Caleb determines that it is safe to discuss his colleagues with Essik. And after one story, it is a deluge.

A mention of high-ranking officials trying to conceal their personal lives leads to a strange anecdote about Jester, the tiefling, encountering and exposing several such officials in her youth. A discussion of preferred methods of travel leads to a brief summary of Fjord, the half-orc, and how his previous experience with the sea was crucial just months ago when they had to travel by ship.

Caleb speaks of his colleagues warmly, almost without exception. Many groups of adventurers or mercenaries get along solely in order to secure wealth, or to complete necessary objectives. Essik is professionally and personally familiar with many. However, these defectors seem to defy one standard after another..

Essik listens to the anecdotes with interest.

**

Caleb’s new attire is not from Essik’s tailor near the Conservatory, but it is  _certainly_ an improvement. The maroon silk shirt has fine stitching, with some modest shards of onyx embroidered into the v-shaped neckline.

“The woman at the front insisted I would look like a commoner if there weren’t any stones anywhere,” Caleb is saying with some tension.

Essik is trying not to be distracted by the orange-blond curls of chest hair visible from the neck line. The line of his throat, the curve of his collarbones, are an even fairer cream than that of his face. It is. Deeply unique and distracting. “Your tailor was correct. I understand that men of the Empire often avoid even semiprecious gems, but here, such an absence would indicate an inability to afford it.” Caleb looks mollified, so Essik continues: “I assure you that onyx is neither particularly expensive nor ostentatious.”

“Thank you.” Caleb nods a few times, fingering the lapel of the new black coat and trying on a weak smile. “I did try to follow your recommendation, near the Marble Tomes… a bit too rich for my blood, I’m afraid.”

A euphemism for being unable to afford it. Essik bows slightly at the waist. “Please accept my apologies. My suggestion was clearly unhelpful.”

“Nein, no, it is fine.” Caleb actually laughs. “Trust me, I am used to not being up to snuff in places like that. And, while I was getting stared at in the lobby, I got to see some displayed outfits that looked nearly as good as your cloak and mantle!”

Essik is far too modest to beam.

**

His most recent cultural discovery has been about about the delivery of flowers.

Either by messenger or in person, they have additional value if they are a type particularly admired by the recipient. Essik, having little botanical knowledge himself, goes to his garden and points at the ones Caleb admired upon his first visit. His servant informs him of the genus and assures him that they are only moderately difficult to acquire.

Essik arranges for six bulbs to be purchased, and planted in the garden outside Caleb Widogast’s Rosohna house. Such romantic gestures certainly make more sense in a place like the Empire, where flowers are said to be much more plentiful and even grow by the fields on wild plains. But Essik is not a man without means, and his younger servant, Ruanill, happens to have an aunt who specializes in the cultivation of non-fruiting plants.

He sends Ruanill with special instructions to only plant the bulbs where the firbolg and/or tiefling will permit. Essik remembers that those two were  _absolutely_ responsible for that building’s… upgrades, upon moving in.

**

There is a knock on the library door, and Ruanill enters and bows deeply. “Shadowhand.”

Essik looks up from the codex on the desk. “I trust everything went well?”

“Mr. Widogast was not at home. The firbolg, Mr. Caduceus Clay, received the gift with deep gratitude. He requested that he assist me in the planting process.”

“Considering his appearance and the tree, I fail to find that surprising.” Which is to say, Essik does not mind the change in plans. The cultural texts mentioned nothing of who did the dirty work.

“Mr. Clay also… invited me in for tea, sir.” Ruanill sounds uncertain.

Essik straightens a little in his chair. This must be a misunderstanding. “You made it clear you were visiting as a servant of my house?”

“Of  _course,_ sir, I made it very explicit that the gift was from you and for Mr. Widogast.” Ruanill bows again, deeply, and rises slowly. “He… asked for my  _name_ , and upon receiving it, used it to ask me inside to take tea.”

After taking a few moments to ruminate over this, Essik sighs deeply. Ruanill has been reliable and steady in his employ, and does not deserve such bizarre treatment. “Was anyone else present?”

“No, Shadowhand.”

This sounds like another social blunder, stressful but meaningless. “And did you discuss anything of tactical interest?”

“No, Shadowhand.” Ruanill’s eyes reach the ceiling as he tries to recall. “Mr. Clay inquired about my  _family_ ,” Essik cringes in sympathy, “and then, about the care of flowering Xhorhassian plants, and then, about my knowledge of you.”

This is alarming. Essik rises out of his chair to his full height. “Explain.”

Ruanill shrinks immediately. “I must assure you that-”

To be so low as to press one of his  _employees_ , who visited his home in good faith, bearing a gift, is unforgivable. Caleb has mentioned Caduceus’s gift for extracting information from subjects… “Was he asking about my movements? My contacts over enemy lines?”

“Shadowhand, his questions were that of, of a,” Ruanill trembles a little as he rearranges his headpiece. “Please forgive my inelegant wording. His questions were that of a working class mother. Inquiring about her child’s suitor.” Seeing no interruption, he continues: “Your temperament. Your interests beyond magicks. How much time you are given by the Bright Queen to pursue personal interests.”

Essik’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “And I assume he also inquired about the salary, and number of rooms in my home? The value of my estates? How many royal festival gatherings I attend?”

“N-no, Shadowhand, although that  _is_  a known line of questioning in some lower households.” Ruanill squares his shoulders, reclaiming his courage. “If I may be so bold, I would theorize that the firbolg acts as a maternal figure to the defector group. These… casual digs for intel are an attempt to determine whether you are a suitable  _personality,_ not financial or societal match, to the human.”

Essik digests this. “A… an interview by proxy, perhaps.” And how can he know how he fared in an interview he did not attend?

“Yes, Shadowhand.” Ruanill bows his head. “It is common for such questioning to be aimed at someone who is knowledgeable about the suitor, but not motivated to lie for them.”

“He underestimated your allegiance.”

“I was not offended by the implication.” A beat. “The tea was very sweet and included honey. I believe Mr. Clay was satisfied by my descriptions of your loyalty, conviction, and work ethic. Is that… sufficient for the report?”

“…yes. Please take the rest of the day off. I am sure you are out of sorts.”

**

The firbolg is considered a very wise, if unusual, font of knowledge by the others among the defectors. Caleb has told Essik as much. Essik’s anxiety has shifted from concern that one of the defectors is a mole, to concern that one of the defector’s opinion of him may sway his human’s feelings on him.


	4. Chapter 4

It is ten minutes past seven, and Caleb Widogast was due at six for dinner and dunamancy. Until tonight, Caleb has never once been late.

Shadowhand Essik Theylas sits in his library and reflects upon his possible failure.

Ruanill has been an honest and dedicated servant for several years now. Essik has no doubt that Ruanill’s account is accurate  _and_ that his estimation of the firbolg’s intentions is, at the very least, worth considering. Essik has come to the conclusion that it is  _very possible_ that Caduceus Clay made, even after Ruanill’s positive declarations, that the match was a poor one for some reason. 

There would be no shame in this. A firbolg’s standards for what makes a fine person or finely selected  _partner_ are a complete mystery to Essik. Caduceus was a queer sort who was clearly bonded to the soil and not to any particular line drawn across it, and Essik felt sure that any amount of Empire research would leave him poorly prepared for understanding the firbolg’s values.

“Shadowhand?” Ruanill stands in the doorway with the dessert wine. Essik looks from the library hearth to his empty glass, sighs, and extends his hand for a second glass.

Ruanill looks ready to say something. Or for Essik to say something. Essik does not indulge this desire.

Ruanill turns first - his ears pricked up, looking toward the hall. Essik hears it next, notices Ruanill has forgotten his duties, and reaches his other hand out to tip the wine bottle back up before it spills over the rim.

“Someone approaches my door and you forget yourself,” Essik says evenly. “I’ve been said to be a solitary man, but you certainly put a fine point on it.”

“I apologize, Shadowhand.” Ruanill swallows and pulls the wine bottle back to his chest, moving back to the doorway. “Elamas and I have been discussing Mr. Widogast’s lateness, and were concerned that something may have happened to him.”

Did that seem to be so much more likely than the human simply choosing not to attend? Essik has no time to ask - Ruanill has bowed and exited, and quiet voices are coming from the hall. Elamas is speaking, and then - yes, Caleb, voice high and tense - and there are footsteps. Essik pushes his shoulders back, sets his glass down, and rises from the settee to receive his guest.

Caleb looks unusually rugged, wearing his original Kryn attire with scuffs across the charcoal boots and muted purple coat. His hair is somewhat out of place, and - his jawline and cheeks are obscured by the red-brown scruff of his beard coming back in. Something stirs in Essik’s chest that he cannot stifle.

“Good evening, Caleb Widogast.” Essik bows very shortly at the waist, allowing some of his concern to shine through. Caleb does not look injured, but Essik realizes now that he smells like… a cave. “Are you well?”

“I fucked up,” Caleb says curtly, and then freezes, puts his hand over his face, and takes a breath. “I - we were out of spells. I meant to ask Jester or Caduceus to send you a message, and by the time I remembered, we were all spent. I’m sorry.”

Essik drifts forward, receiving Caleb with a gentle nod and gesturing him toward the settee to get some warmth from the fire. He knows better than to ask for his coat - Elamas gave up after the second visit. “You are hardly an hour late. Is the rest of your group well? What exhausted you so?”

Caleb allows himself to be directed, although his head is still ducked apologetically. Even as weary as he is, he seems to feel the weight of his late arrival very heavily. “We’re fine, danke, we made it out fine… it was the last portal. Out in the Ghostlands. Our direct route  _there_  worked, downhill, but even with the moorbounders, we… had to take a roundabout way back. I expected us to return to the city early yesterday, not an hour ago.”

The last of those damned portals, finally out of the way. Essik takes a breath. “You have just returned from a long journey. You must be hungry.”

“No, no, I ate a bead on Jannik, I am fine.”

It takes a moment for Essik to remember that Caleb named his moorbounder. “I- ah.” Essik settles on the arm chair adjacent, giving Caleb a few feet of room. “Are you here to provide a report? I cannot imagine you want to practice, it sounds like all of you have exhausted yourselves to return.”

“Nein, I - we’ll go to the Bright Queen in the morning. Or I can write something down for you, if you like…” Caleb gestures in the air. “I knew you’d be waiting. And that Elamas would have cooked something. I came to  _apologize_.”

This situation was unexpected, but Essik mostly feels relief that Caleb’s absence was not, in fact, a sign of being driven away by a companion’s suggestion, or by Essik himself. He raises a hand to wave it away. “I am very familiar with unusual work and unforeseen changes. It is just good to see that you are well.”

Caleb smiles in relief, shoulders loosening. The firelight flickers across his face, complementing his skin as if it were made to do so. “You don’t have to be so nice, you know.”

Essik is drawn from his reverie. “I beg your pardon?”

“Pretending I don’t make blunders all the time. Taking me out for these expensive dinners. Nein,” He holds up a hand, stopping Essik. “I know those aren’t comped by work, no matter how much of this is…” He gestures between them, ducking his head and looking to the side.

Something clicks in Essik’s mind. “You think our interactions have been… directed?” 

Caleb shrugs. “I have been a cog before. I am not asking you to tell me every detail of what you were asked to do, or what the greater plan is. I understand the Bright Queen wants to keep us as informants. I am comfortable with that alliance.”

“Caleb, I-” Essik pushes himself up from the chair, feeling an unusual moment of hesitance before moving closer and sitting across from Caleb on the settee. From here, he can see Caleb’s mild surprise as he reads Essik’s serious expression. “I believe you have taken many proven facts and arranged them into an incorrect conclusion.”

Caleb swallows, the color of his cheeks and ears rising in what is now a familiar flush to Essik. “About… which part?”

“Informants are glorified messengers. They may do some spy work to gain new intel, but beyond that, their only value is in what they can tell us.” Essik knows this must be old news to Caleb, but he needs to emphasize a contrast: “Allies have agency. They are worth more than their intel, they may even have desires or requests that we grant in order to keep a positive relationship. If they tell us something to help us meet our personal or our mutual goals, all the better. But it is not all they are.”

“So you’re pointing out that we can also fight, and that we’ve also been pressing the Bright Queen to consider less bloody alternatives.” Caleb tilts his head side to side. “That is fair.”

“And,” Essik adds, suppressing frustration that this has to be said explicitly. “allies are treated as equals. They are not pressed or manipulated for whatever information they may have.”

Caleb swallows. “So you are saying… you are not manipulating me.”

“I am not.”

“Then, the dinners? The compliments? The, the tutelage?”

Essik maintains composure as he chooses his words. “The tutelage is exactly as I have framed it. You wish to learn dunamancy to achieve goals that benefit both our sides. And you learn remarkably quickly, so it is hardly a deep investment of my time.”

A beat. “And the rest?” Caleb’s voice sounds very small now. His eyes are still elsewhere, so Essik tries to keep him at ease by keeping his own gaze on the fire.

“Those are in the efforts of my own goals, not the Dynasty’s.”

“I used to wonder…” Caleb gives a short laugh. “I said once that I thought you might be buttering me up for, for some kind of Kryn’s equivalent of the Scourgers… but nobody agreed with me.”

The other defectors? Essik feels his ears twitch up minutely, betraying his interest. “And what were their theories, pray tell?”

“That, um.” Caleb’s second laugh sounds more forced. “After the flowers for our yard, a few days ago, Caduceus said he believed Beau’s theory, that you were pursuing me.”

Essik sneaks a glance. Caleb’s expression has a tension to it, but if Essik is right; its mix of hesitance also has notes of hopefulness. “And what do you believe now?”

“It… would explain… the tone. Of the way you have been building our relationship.”

“Flowers,” Essik supplies helpfully, now fixing Caleb with a carefully arched brow. “Paying for meals. Ordering them for you on occasion.”

Caleb’s eyes widen and flutter a moment. “Th-those are all… Empire classics, ja.”

“Just as Kryn ‘classics’ include scheduling to meet again before departing. Sharing of wine from each other’s glasses.” Essik lets the moment stretch out a few seconds, watching Caleb blink more rapidly, before continuing. “I believe dining alone together and spending time in the late evening are common in both cultures.”

As Caleb swallows, his throat bobs. “So, it was never about my history with the Empire. Or what I can do.”

“The Academy, you mean.”

“You know?”

“It is an extremely educated guess, from a man very familiar with the sins of the Empire and what happens to gifted children with no prospects.” Essik waves his hand dismissively. “There is no ‘Kryn Scourge’ I wish you to join. And while I have great interest in the Academy _itself_ , I have far less for your specific knowledge. If I were to ask for it, you may fall under the impression that it was what I find interesting about you.” Essik sweeps an errant lock of hair back into place. “I wish you to remain an ally to help us fight the Empire, but our interactions have been unrelated to that wish. I trust that has been sufficiently forthright.”

Caleb doesn’t speak for a moment. “I want…” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “I want you to help me eradicate the Academy. And all the other cancer within my homeland.” A chill seems to run through the room. “Or I can help you do it. I don’t care who strikes the final blow, who gets fanfare, if anyone does at all. I just want it gone.” The conviction in his voice is unquestionable - Essik is too well trained to waste time doubting him. “And,” the human adds, “I have been trying not to make an absolute  _ass_ of myself the past few weeks because of how much I didn’t want my personal interest in you to jeopardize that mission.”

Essik’s feels his heart rate pick up, just a fraction. “That has been your struggle, during our meetings?”

“During our - during our  _d-_ ” Caleb flusters on the word, face tinged pink as he straightens and looks past Essik, toward the glass of wine on the end table. “What was the wine tradition? I fucked it up, didn’t I?” He gestures almost absentmindedly, using mage hand to bring the glass in front of Essik. Startled, Essik takes it. “Here. I will do it properly, this time.”

Essik blinks for a moment.  _This is a dessert wine_ , part of him wants to say, but he does not want to ruin this moment of redemption for Caleb. “This is a sweet elderberry wine,” he says with a hint of formality, holding the glass up and then out for Caleb to take it. “The grove is to the west, and this particular vintage is well regarded. Would you like to try a taste?”

Caleb takes the glass, fingers brushing Essik’s and causing more nerves still. Caleb’s eyes flick to Essik’s, awaiting direction of what to say, but Essik remains silent. “Yes, thank you,” Caleb says unsteadily. Essik nods just a touch. Caleb takes a cautious sip of the wine, making a point to savor it.

Essik takes this opportunity to capture this moment in his mind. Caleb’s lashes are fanned across his cheeks, the color still risen on his skin where the firelight touches it. His long fingers, careful on the stem of the glass, are trembling ever so slightly.

“It is delicious,” Caleb breathes. He holds the glass out, then stops short. “Is that - now what?”

Essik can’t help but hold back a smile. “Now you would offer me a taste of whatever  _you_  were drinking,” he replies gently, a little apologetic; Caleb had seemed so dead set on righting this now, Essik didn’t have the heart to contradict him.

“Ah.” Caleb is, Essik can tell, thinking back to the several times they did this in restaurants, and Essik was left completely hanging by a ridiculously unobservant dining partner. “Ja, that, that would make sense.” He hands the glass back off to the mage hand, which places it back on the end table.

“It is behind us,” Essik says, too charmed now to think back on those events with anything but amusement. “I was too presumptuous about what would translate across borders.”

“We can improvise,” Caleb says, almost to himself, and then locks eyes with Essik, startling him with the amount of focus and intent. Slowly, deliberately, Caleb reaches a hand up, taking Essik’s cheek with just the barest amount of contact before leaning in and pressing their lips together, softly, still at first and then moving with purpose. Essik returns the kiss, feeling his body stir with a rare surge of desire as Caleb opens his mouth and offers his tongue, shyly, until Essik determines his meaning and allows him in. When Essik chases down the taste of the wine on Caleb’s tongue, the human moans and moves his hand to clutch at his shoulder.

Caleb pulls back for air first. Essik, caught up in the thrill of the moment, reaches out to mirror what Caleb had done, palm light on the human’s cheek. The beard is rough. Soft. Both.

“I think we’re communicating better,” Caleb jokes quietly in the silence of the room.

Essik permits himself to brush his thumb across Caleb’s jawline. Caleb’s eyelashes flutter. “One cannot argue with the improved results,” Essik agrees. Caleb’s cheeks rises in a grin. “Caleb.”

“Yes?”

“I would have you remain here tonight. And stay in my bed. I would please you, and take you, until we both had our fill.”

Caleb’s eyes widen and, in a reaction of shock now familiar to Essik, stares into the middle distance. “Well, that is certainly. Well communicated.”

“If you do not wish to do this tonight, or ever, you need only tell me.”

“Nein, I-” The human swallows again, and this time, Essik allows himself to watch his throat bob. Caleb notices the attention and flushes deeper. It is a marvelous color. “Tonight. Yes. Now?”

“If you wish.” He can feel a pleased smile developing at the corners of his mouth.

It deepens as Caleb rises to his feet swiftly, already moving to the door and reaching for Essik to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot tell you how much easier it is to keep a story moving when there is an enthusiastic readership. Thank you to everyone who's been supportive. <3


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